


Street Fights

by Ass_Gardiann



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Modern AU, Slow Burn, Street Fights, alexander is a shitty father, eliza is emo, georges is a cinnamon bun, i didnt intend to write this much but now im feeling like its gonig to be a multi-chapter fic, idk - Freeform, its super gay, philip has a million parents, sue me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-08-31 16:31:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8585731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ass_Gardiann/pseuds/Ass_Gardiann
Summary: Philip Hamilton didn't mean to get into street fights, but now he is finding it impossible to stop. He says he is in it for the money, but Georges suspects otherwise. With his family life crumbling to pieces around him, Philip must decide whether or not he is going to accept the fact he needs help or continue to throw emotional blows at those he loves most.





	1. It Begins

Street fights. Not something Philip thought he would be doing for a living, and definitely not what his mother thought he was doing. He had kind of gotten into it by accident. Kind of. Sure, he had most definitely initiated the first fight; that was indisputable. He just hadn’t meant to continue fighting. But alas, he was a college student with growing debt in a dying economy and if he could pick up 50, or even 20, bucks from a bet behind a club, he wasn’t just going to say no.

Besides, his family life was pretty shit. Four younger siblings that he pretty much had to look after financially, a mourning mother and a father who, in all of Phillip’s honesty, would be better off abandoning them all together. No, it wasn’t so much a family anymore as a shit-storm of angst and shouting.

That was another thing the fights were good for, taking out his anger.

A cool breeze tickled his bloodied face and played with his dark matted hair. A bench had not been his intended resting point, but the throbbing of his head was telling him that the round of fast fights last night had been pretty rough. It took him less than a second to register the shooting pain in his shoulder. However, that topped with the thunderous throb of his entire body was a slight distraction to the dripping t-shirt, uncomfortable jeans, and squelching socks. In all honesty, he wished it was the other way around. 

Ignoring the situation entirely was his first instinct – slip back into a state of sleep where pain and drowsiness wouldn’t continue to consume his ongoing stream of idiotic thoughts. He would have probably taken up that option too if it hadn’t been for the soft desperation of words that were calling him back into the world of the living.

“Hello? Sir? Are you alright? Hello? Please don’t be dead. Please! Hello?”

Philip groaned weakly, disappointed by the lack of feeling in his most likely cold toes and the amount of feeling in his head. With a heaved sigh, Philip attempted to blink awake, light blinding the only eye that opened; the other bulging and alive – probably swollen shut for the second time that month. The world seemed magnificently brighter than he remembered, green leaves and perky blue skies – it wasn’t the scene he was expecting to see and the optimism of it all made his head spin a little faster. Amongst the chaos, a concerned smile eased his suffering and he felt the tension in his body begin to fade at the sight of a friendly, yet unfamiliar, face.

 “Oh, dieu merci! Are you okay? I mean, no you are obviously not okay, but my question stands. I’m Georges, this is Étoile. We were walking by and saw you and – have you been here all night?” The man, Georges, spoke with an aire of confidence that Philip hadn’t exactly expected. It was obvious that he was nervous, sure, but that were a million reasons for that. The most likely being the whole, ‘waking up an injured stranger’ incident.

Philip didn’t really want to move that much but knew this man was here with Étoile, whoever that was, and his immediate independent mind-set helped kicked his ass into gear, and he sat up with the least amount of cringing and wincing that he could muster – even if he was sure he would never feel his fingers again. Upright and slightly more aware, Philip took a proper look at his savior. And by proper look, it was more a jumble of squinting through dazzling sunlight and attempting to stay upright – so more a half-assed look at his savior.

Georges was tall. Very tall. Unfairly tall. Philip was very un-tall and the feeling of immediate intimidation put him back on guard within seconds. An abundance of dark curls were tied in a neat bun at the back of Georges’ head and stray strands sprung around his forehead in captivating swirls. Georges was immaculate and intimidating and Philip couldn’t help but feel like an underdressed mess of blood and cotton.

And Étoile, who Philip had assumed to be, what most would expect, a human, sat beside Georges patiently with probably the happiest smile Philip had ever seen a dog wear. He was so small, and compared to Georges even more so. A small red bandana hung around his neck and a mess of dark curly fluff hid dark eyes from view. As the wind blew, the small dog had to brace himself from being picked up by the breeze and Philip was sure it was the second cutest thing he had seen all day.

But then the real matter at hand sunk in and Philip felt a prickling fear up his neck. His head whirled around the unfamiliar environment, searching for anything that he recognized at all.  But alas, the park seemed distant and unreachable, even while he sat on its bench. The barks of dogs and shouts of children had outwitted his observational skills and Philip glared at the odd trees and unrecognizable plants.

“Where am I?” Philip asked slowly, noticing a blood crusted cut on his lip as he finally found his voice. He focused back on Georges with as little evidence of fear or confusion as he could muster.

In that moment, Georges seem to hesitate, perhaps weighing up the idea of leaving him in this unfamiliar environment for the rest of eternity. Philip partially hoped he would maybe just let him sleep off his worries, but everything else was telling him that he should stick with the stranger and his tiny dog.

“No offense sir, but I don’t really know if you know anything right now and your health is kind of important. Can you tell me your name? Is there anyone I can call maybe?” Georges asked. Philip wasn’t sure what the feeling flooding his body was, a mix of hurt and confusion? A twinge of guilt? This oddly nice dog-man was simply trying to help him and Philip wasn’t exactly being grateful.

“My name?” Philip asked, “Yeah, yeah I’m…. uhh…” he paused, trying to think as the word hung there, just out of reach. He just wanted to help Georges help him help- “Philip. It’s Philip. I’m Philip,” he stammered, trying to swallow the strain in his throat as he looked away from Georges’ face, missing the flicker of doubt. “Don’t call anyone. Please,” He muttered, unsure what he’d tell, well, anyone. Admitting to street fighting wasn’t exactly on his list of things to do and if his parents found out… he couldn’t put his mother through that.

“Alright Philip. Do you drink coffee?” Georges queried, straightening up and offering Philip a hand. Caution was still clear in his voice, but curiosity and satisfaction filled his face and Philip accepted the offer with a small wince at the fractured feeling of his fingers.

“Coffee? I mean, yes…?” Philip mumbled. Étoile barked softly and Philip glanced at the dog, his head rushing at the sudden movement. He clung onto Georges’ hand tightly, grounding himself. After a second of contemplation, Philip began to take his hand away, but Georges simply looked at him and refused to let go, entwining their fingers as a sign of something Philip couldn’t figure out.

“Étoile will get cranky if we do not stop by the café,” Georges explained, beginning to walk briskly away, Philip’s hand still planted firmly in his own – not seemingly caring if Philip would be able to keep up.

“We? What?” Philip murmured, his head still groggy with confusion, dragging his feet along the path as he walked. His knees were not stable and he realized that perhaps Georges’ had a better idea of how much help Philip would need than he did.

“There is no way I’m leaving you in a park you don’t know looking like this. Or anywhere looking like this for that matter.” Georges huffed, “In fact…” Philip watched as Georges grabbed a hair tie from his wrist and offered it to him. “Try look at least somewhat presentable.”

Philip took the hair tie quickly and Georges came to a stop, placing a hand on the small of Philip’s back for support as Philip pulled his mat of hair into a loose pony-tail, a snappy remark sizzling and dying on his tongue. He figured it better to not insult the man who was helping him and instead offered a small smile.

“I don’t think that’s possible, but thanks.” Philip said, realizing it was the first time he had thanked Georges since their paths had crossed.

“It’s somewhat of a problem but we deal,” Georges replied. Philip looked down in embarrassment and a moment of silence filled the air.

A road interrupted their path and the buildings on the other side were a decaying pink. “My sister’s room is that colour,” Philip muttered, not really to anyone in particular. The idea of being able to associate things again was nice, Philip had never been a morning person after all, and mornings after fights were bad enough. Mornings after fights on park benches just screamed ‘the worst’. 

Georges didn’t seem to care much for the statement and they awaited a gentle stream of cars to slow long enough for them to cross in silence. Georges took back Philips hand deliberately as they marched across the gravel, Étoile sniffing and huffing at the air.

“So, are you going to tell me how this all happened, Philip?” Georges asked as they stepped onto the curb of the other side. Philip reached out and touched the decaying pink as they turned along the sidewalk. It brought an odd sense of comfort and he focused on its hue until it was replaced with deep bricks and wire fences.

“Fight,” Philip stated bluntly, not wanting to burden Georges with details. He had expected perhaps questions of concern, why, when, who etcetera, etcetera. But much to his shock all he got was a small laugh and a shake of a head.

“You are not a very… how should I put- talkative person, are you?” Georges asked, raising an eyebrow and sending him a smirk. Philip looked back to him, a small smile rising on his face at the casual turn of the conversation.

“You caught me on a bad day.” He replied as they turned up another street, his hand dropping back to his side as passer-by’s pushed past them carefully.

“Observant too!” Georges laughed and Philip found himself joining in with his own broken puffs that quickly staggered into crying coughs. Georges stopped and they moved closer to the wall, avoiding the silent strangers of the crisp morning.

“Fine.” Philip gave in once he had recovered, looking back up to Georges, retracting his hand from their previously entwined fingers and feeling the cold absence immediately. “Fights. Betting. It pays for the lights to stay on another week. We all do what we need to get by yeah?”

“Yeah. I suppose we do.” Georges agreed with an understanding sigh.  

It was another one of those moments. Regret filled the air at Philip’s words. The silent hum of cars were deafening. Georges began to move again and Étoile led them along the path. Philip could pin-point the exact moment Georges’ face had dropped. Philip’s fingers felt cold without Georges’ and his connection with this utter stranger seemed to all be gone within a word or two.

Étoile barked and the two snapped out of their thoughts as Georges came to a halt outside a small coffee shop on the corner of a silent street. It didn’t look like anything special from the outside. A tall wooden door with a hand-painted ‘open’ sign and a square of tinted windows. The inside was very similar to the out. A high ceiling with a few fancy lights. Plants and flowers decorating the wooden walls. Everything seemed inviting and rounded and the sound of coffee machines and whooshing water brought the room to life.

“Come, sit down. I’ll be a moment. Look after Étoile for me.” Georges passed Philip the lead and took off behind the bar.

Philip took a seat, picking up the small lapdog and scratched him carefully behind the ears, not caring about the small muddy paw prints that were sure to stain his ex-white singlet. He was going to have to throw it out anyway, it was practically covered in blood and he couldn’t even tell if it was his.

He sat in in the dimly lit café, broken memories of the previous night falling into place. Nothing too different from normal. He’d won, miraculously enough. Whoever he was fighting hadn’t liked that very much. Two more men had come. What had happened?

He stood up quickly, Etoile jumping off his lap. Philip reached into his pockets. His phone was there- the screen was smashed and the shards of broken glass pricked his fingers as he felt around for anything else. His keys were gone. Not something people normally stole – he figured they’d fallen out of his pocket. He hoped his roommate hadn’t stolen the spare.

But his wallet.

He couldn’t find it. His money, his cards, his ID. He couldn’t find any of it. How the hell was he meant to pay for shit now? Sure he had a small amount of cash back at his apartment, but he wouldn’t even be able to thank Georges properly or-or.

He sat down again, closing his eyes and focusing on the immediate world, unable to stress about this now. Freaking out later- he could do that. It was the only option. Not now. Later. He let the aroma of the fresh coffee ground his thoughts and allowed the soft opening of the door and the small bell to keep his head clear – the breeze that blew in remind him of life. He was here and he was fine, his mother had enough cash for a week or so and he wasn’t that in need of money. He’d just have to go out again later. Besides, looking like he apparently did – he’d score big if he won.

Footsteps approached and he opened his eyes as Georges returned, two cups of steaming coffee in his hands and a slightly shorter, yet older, version of him by his side. Philip blinked up at the two and Georges offered an encouraging smile and opened his mouth as the older man pulled up a chair.

“So Philip this is – wait, where is Étoile?” he asked, looking around Philip’s chair as if expecting to see the small ball of fur simply appear his feet.

Philip could feel his heart drop as he stared at the two, very tall, very intimidating men before him. Blood, sweat and the muddy paw prints of a tiny creature covered his white shirt. He could feel the guilt and fear rising in his chest as he noticed Étoile’s absence like one notices a flashing neon sign; all at once and without preparation or warning. 

“Georges… I swear, I know I just met you and like, I really appreciate everything that you’ve done and it’s really nice that you brought me to a café and just-“

“Where is my dog, Hamilton?” Georges asked, his arms folded in blunt demand.

“I… I don’t know.” Philip stammered, looking at his hands cautiously. “But I swear, I’ll find him, I’ll go now. I promise I, I don’t know what- wait. How did you know my last name was Hamilton?”


	2. Another Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Georges searches for his dog while Lafayette answers a few of Philip's questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What another chapter? You'd think I was spoiling all of you.

Unease flittered through the small café and questions bit through Philip’s mind. Gentle music and soft chatter seemed distant and lost among the rush of this singular moment. Philip couldn’t help but want to leave, but he doubted he would get away with it now. It had only been a minute since Georges himself had fled the scene, sharing a look with the older man that Philip still didn’t know, before escaping the café. His question was still unanswered and Philip could only hope that that was something that would change soon enough.

The features that had once made this place seem homely and calm now made Philip’s insides turn with anxiety and he dared not to look at the man who he could only imagine was glaring him down. No, focusing on anything but that was best for him right now.

The man had set Philip’s coffee on the table in front of him and Philip had yet to touch it. Georges’ drink was there too. Philip worried that it might get cold before his return- not that it was a problem if it did. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure why he cared so much. His mother said he had always been an emotional person. Just like his father, she would say. Of course, Philip would never admit to being as emotional as he was. And again, he was just like his father.

A murmur, seemingly directed at him, pulled him from his thoughts and Philip’s head snapped up to stare at the man sitting opposite him. He hadn’t exactly gotten the best look at him yet and considering how avoidant Philip had been of looking in his general direction, Philip felt that the feeling was mutual.

“Sorry… what?” Philip asked, clearly dazed as he stared into the deep brown eyes before him.

Whoever this man was, he was old. Not ridiculously old, somewhere in his late 40’s, early 50’s maybe. Dark swirls of hair were pulled back tightly into a high pony-tail. The physical similarity to Georges was striking and instantly Philip’s mind placed this man as Georges’ father. The man’s shirt was a simple navy button down, and he wore a dark brown apron; a scribble of a name embroidered above the breast in a glittering gold. Lafayette.

“Merde! Do you need something for that eye? Georges said you were bad but… how on earth did you? Never mind. Come with me.” Lafayette stood up, clearly having only just noticed how bad the bruising bulge actually was. The concern felt genuine and kind, and already within this short moment, Philip could see how much Georges was his father’s son. Lafayette offered Philip a hand up, one that Philip could only accept. Together they collected the three, still warm, drinks and Lafayette began to lead Philip behind the counter and through to the back.

“You work here?” Philip asked as they passed a young girl working one of the machines. He caught a glimpse of a few golden piercings hidden under long dreadlocks and she threw him a polite smile as he passed. He didn’t smile back.

“Work here? Something like that. I, as the kids say, own this joint.” Lafayette replied, pressing his hand to the small of Philip’s back and guiding him through an open doorway and into the back. Philip stiffened slightly at the gesture but didn’t protest it as he scanned the room with curiosity.

The walls out the back were a deep brick brown and sacks of flour and beans spilled out of cupboards. The floors were smooth and white, reminding Philip of the old hallways of his college. There was a singular window by a kitchen sink and cacti sat on the sill- each one different seemingly named.

There were fewer people working here than Philip had expected. One employer sat on a crate beside the entrance, watching something on their phone. It was apparently pretty humorous, for every now and again a soft sweet laugh would fill the room. Philip could only guess that they were off shift. Two more stood rolling bread on a middle bench, their hands covered in flour and their conversation loud. However, even though they seemed immersed in each other, Philip could see their eyes flicking up to look at him every now and again. It was hard not to feel like he was being judged by these strangers. Lafayette’s hand continued to guide him along and soon enough Philip found himself trotting up a deep green, spiral staircase and coming face to face with what could only be described as the most professional door that he had ever seen.

Moments later and Philip was laying down on a second-hand couch with a tea towel full of ice pressed lightly against his face. Lafayette had found his own seat across from him in a rather large and fancy chair. He sipped at his coffee slowly as he stared at Philip as if trying to put pieces of a puzzle together.

Philip really wasn’t sure what to do. He had never exactly been rescued by a handsome stranger and then forced onto a couch by his father. He doubted many had. The situation was simply, unnerving.

“I’m sorry Mr. Lafayette, sir… but, what am I doing here?” Philip asked after a moment more of silent tension. The suspense of the entire situation was chewing away at his mind. “And how did Georges know my name? Do I know you?” he asked, not wanting to cause upset.

Lafayette sat down his cup gently, musing for a second. “I am… was, close friends with your father.” Lafayette said. His tone seemed to presume that that summed up every question that Philip could possibly have about the entire situation. He was very wrong.

Instead, more questions sprung to mind and he had to physically bite his tongue to stop himself from unloading them all at once. A warm laugh filled Philip’s ears and the young man glanced back at Lafayette in confusion.

“Your father makes the same expression when he was trying to hold back from saying something. Go on, I promise I won’t bite.” Lafayette encouraged, waiting patiently as Philip pushed himself into a sitting position.

“I just… Mr. Lafayette, sir. Papa doesn’t really have that many friends. I mean, he had a few. I think. I remember some coming around. But they weren’t good friends. I’m sorry Mr. Lafayette, sir if I am skeptical but… why wouldn’t he mention you two were close?” Philip queried. He knew a lot of things didn’t make sense when it came to his father. Philip did truly love his father, but their relationship wasn’t simple. His father kept secrets. His father lied. As much as Philip loved his father, he also hated him.

“It was a long time ago,” Lafayette muttered. “We were kids, in college together. He roomed with my husband. Of course, at the time we weren’t married. You’re father had arrived mid-year. I was just an exchange student at the time.” He sat back, folding his arms. “As to why he wouldn’t mention me. Multiple reasons. Possibly guilt, maybe denial. Not that it matters. We haven’t seen each other in years. Last time we talked you were only… what, five years old?”

Philip listened intently, staring at the man’s honest eyes. It had been years ago then. He wondered how old Georges would have been. Perhaps he wasn’t born yet? Philip doubted he was older than the taller boy, though. He definitely was not more mature.

“So how did you know who I was?” Philip frowned, “If I was only five… that doesn’t make any sense!” He exclaimed, his eyes narrowing as he tried to understand the situation. By the sounds of it, Lafayette was simply psychic. Philip kind of hoped that was the case.

 “I’m not an idiot, Philip, I have Facebook.” He folded his arms. “You come up as a suggested mutual friend a lot and Eliza keeps posting pictures. Honestly, it would be hard for me not to have known.”

“Oh.” Philip sighed. It was the obvious answer of course. He decided to blame his injuries for his lack of awareness and hoped the conversation wasn’t something Lafayette would be remembering for long. “That still doesn’t explain why I’m here.” He frowned.

“Yes, that’s what I-“a tap on the door interrupted Lafayette and he looked over to the closed door before standing up, “I’m sorry, I should probably answer this. I’ll be a minute. Don’t touch anything.”

Philip’s eyes followed him as he walked to the door and pulled it open, Philip caught a glimpse of the girl from the counter before the door closed swiftly and Philip found himself once again, alone.

With Lafayette now out of the office, however, it gave him a moment to clear his thoughts and inspect the office-like room. Cautiously, Philip sat down the now dripping tea-towel on the second-hand leather and stood up, making his way around the room in a daze of curiosity.

The first thing he noticed were the drawings. They were all pinned onto a corkboard by the window. A couple of child’s drawings, a few teens, a couple professional-looking sketches. The corkboard was full of them. Philip himself had always enjoyed art, never the best by a long shot. He enjoyed music and poetry more than the finer physical skills of painting and drawing. However, as he looked over the corkboard, he noticed each piece was still… similar. It was almost as if he could place them in an order of age.

It took him a moment more of staring before he noticed the small signature in the corner of the later pieces. Golden and swirled.

They were Georges’ sketches.

And they were gorgeous.

It was sweet of Lafayette to have this whole section of his office dedicated to Georges’ drawings alone. Philip couldn’t help but wonder how Georges felt about having even his early, 3-year-old works on display in his father’s office. Philip knew that if his own Papa had ever appreciated his work that much, he probably would have cried out of joy.

Behind the corkboard was a deep blue wall. Philip was pretty sure he was noticing a color trend with Lafayette already. The curtains of the room were similar, the tassels the same gold on Lafayette’s apron.

There was a small desk in the middle of the room. It was neat. Organised. It reminded Philip of his own before he ever got into an exam period. He would always set up his desk in a neat, organized manner, but within a day papers, coffee mugs and pens were everywhere. He didn’t have the patience to keep something like a clean desk, but he sure as hell appreciated the look of one. The only thing seemingly out of place was a red pen, uncapped and lying on a piece of paper, abandoned mid-sentence.

Behind the desk, there was a bookshelf. A very large, very systematic bookshelf. Snow globes and statues dotted between the leaning, a colourful mound of books and everything seemed to be balanced perfectly. Of course, it was nothing to the bookcase that his parents had at home. No, that was filled to the brim and more. It was basically bursting with books of all shapes and sizes. Although this bookshelf was seemingly more arranged, the sheer mass of books here would struggle to be a tenth of what his parents’ case held. 

Philip reached up and stroked his hand down the spine of one of the books, its old crisp scent welcoming him in as he reminisced and allowed his thoughts to settle into a cohesive stream. Just as he was about to lower his hand, Lafayette opened the door once more, followed this time by a perfectly pissed off looking Georges. Philip spun around quickly at the click of the professional door, having been too lost in his own thoughts to have heard them clambering up the staircase. Once he saw the look on Georges' face and the lack of dog following him, he knew he was in trouble.

“What did I say about not touching anything?” Lafayette asked, trying to hide his amusement as he gestured for Georges’ to take a seat.

“I, I- sorry. I just got distracted.” Philip stammered glancing at the floor for a moment before allowing himself to look back at Georges. “Did you find him?” he asked softly. He, of course, knew the answer to the question, but it would be rude of him not to ask.

“Does it look like I found him, Hamilton?” Georges snarled before stopping. Georges took a deep breath, continuing in a soft tone, his voice writhing with sadness, “How could you lose him? I was gone for two seconds. Two seconds.”

Philip could feel himself freezing again. Having cute guys shout at him was nothing new. Having Georges almost cry at him was definitely something he could never have expected and Philip had to forcibly shift his weight from foot to foot to keep him from simply stopping altogether.It was just so… upsetting to see him like that.

“I’m sorry. No really, I will make it up to you. I will find your dog. I promise.” He assured him, staring at the floor again. Georges didn’t reply in his disapproval and sat heavily on the second-hand couch, kicking his feet up and folding his arms; unimpressed.

Sometimes Philip felt like all he could do was be a disappointment.

“Don’t worry about it too much. Étoile runs off a lot. He’ll turn up in a day or two.” Lafayette assured him, “Georges can be a tad-“ He searched for the right word while giving his son a very pointed look, “Over Dramatic. Don’t take it to heart.”

Georges shot his father a soft glare, muttering to himself quietly and pulling his phone from his pocket, seemingly unwilling to cheer up. It was fair of him to be upset of course, but the words did provide Philip with a comfort, even if guilt still nibbled through him. Philip simply nodded in agreement. He didn’t know Georges’ dog, after all. He didn’t know if it was true or not. But even if Lafayette was lying, Philip decided to take comfort in the statement anyway.

“Either way. The reason you actually came here, Philip,” Lafayette continued, moving over to take back his seat in the fancy office chair and gesturing for Philip to join Georges on the couch. “It was for an offer. Not one you have to accept, but one to consider.”

It didn’t sound good. Whatever it was. Philip took a seat slowly, making sure he was as far away from Georges’ side of the couch as possible. Was it an offer of payment? He hadn’t much money anymore and he had lost everything he had had on him at the bar. But it would be rude and ungrateful to refuse, right? Philip decided to keep his eyes open and his mouth shut staring at Lafayette in a pregnant silence. Philip realised he probably was meant to ask for an elaboration.

“Georges has a heart. You did temporarily lose Étoile, but by the sounds of it, you aren’t exactly going to give up searching.” Lafayette continued.

Philip nodded earnestly, “I won’t I will find him, I’ll make sure personally I-” he looked down quickly, forcing himself to just listen for once.

“Philip, you were always coming here with an offer. And, you aren’t the first that Georges’ has found. The first I know, sure. But not the first to be brought here on a morning like this.” Lafayette continued.

Questions seemed to be a recurrent theme of the day. Philip was sure he had more questions than could possibly be answered. He wasn’t the first? Did Georges’ pick up half-dead college students on a regular basis? Philip sure hoped not.

“Do you fight Philip?” Lafayette asked.

Philip snuck a glance at Georges who was staring at him; expression unreadable. He flinched back, regretting not keeping his eyes trained on Lafayette.

“I. I mean, Kind of. Maybe, sometimes? Yes.” He muttered, somewhat embarrassed. 

“Georges said you did. Under most circumstances… let’s just say this isn’t most circumstances.” Lafayette leaned forward slightly and Philip tried once more to keep his eyes trained on him, “Philip, you matter to me. As my friend’s son, you matter to me a lot. Do your parents know you are fighting?” Lafayette seemed to be choosing his words carefully and they were delivered with precision.

Philip shook his head slowly, fidgeting with the hem of his singlet. Lafayette fell back in his chair as if pondering what to do next. It was clear already that Lafayette did not agree with Philip’s life style. To be fair, Philip wasn’t entirely sure if he himself agreed with his lifestyle. But it was the one that had worked the best so far.

“Right. Philip Hamilton. Do you want a job here? At the Cafetorium?” Lafayette proposed.  Philip couldn’t tell if it was a joke or not. He glanced hesitantly at Georges, but he was turned away,  

“All of it. Why? You want me to… be a coffee-maker?” Philip blinked, his mind ticking over the idea.

“Barista.” Georges corrected, “Do you want the job or not?” he snapped. “Sorry, no, I’m just. Overdramatic.” Georges murmured, glancing at his father apologetically.

Philip stared at him in stunned silence. He didn’t think Georges was being overdramatic at all. It was simply that this Georges was upset, and rightfully so. He wasn’t anything like the calm man who had awoken Philip on that park bench. Philip really hoped he could find that dog, fast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos so far guys! I'm finally formulating a plan for this and I'm getting pretty excited about where this fic is going. From now on I am going to try update on a weekly or fortnightly basis. 
> 
> With school out of the way hopefully that will become a lot easier.
> 
> Anyway, if you liked this chapter let me know! If you didn't let me know! Please, I'm really curious as to your thoughts.  
> Thanks pals and hopefully I can keep the updates reeling in on time.

**Author's Note:**

> Idk if I will actually ever continue with this, but trust me, I want to. Time is a thing however and I am idiotically writing in the middle of my exams. So yeah, I'll see how I go, but let me know what you think!


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